Page 187

59 AD, Somewhere in the northwestern Amazon Basin

We’re spitout onto wet soil, mud oozing beneath my boots.

It worked. My body sags with relief. It worked.

I stand, glancing at my surroundings. The sun is setting here, and though the jungle makes many sounds, there’s a peaceful, quiet element to this place that’s jarring compared to the shrieking violence of Panticapaeum.

Ferox’s growl is all the warning I get.

I’m about to turn when a blade is shoved cleanly through my back. It happens so fast, I don’t have time to do more than choke on my own surprise as I glance down at my abdomen, where the bloody tip of a sword juts out.

Roughly, it’s withdrawn, and with its exit, I collapse to my knees, a cascade of blood pouring from the wound. It’s—it’s right where?—

“You cannot know how long I’ve wished to do that.” Eislyn’s beautiful, lilting voice is laced with malice.

With a snarl, Ferox lunges for the fairy. But before he can make it anywhere near her neck, Eislyn brings the hilt of herweapon down on his head. There’s a sickening crunch, and I choke out a scream as my panther collapses in a heap at my side. The ward that had protected him only moments ago must’ve disintegrated.

The fae woman walks around to my front, tapping the bloody sword against her side as she appraises me. “I hoped you’d survive the attack long enough to come here.”

She tilts her head, and I imagine she’s debating whether to stab me again, though I’m too distracted to much notice. My mate is missing, Ferox is unconscious, and blood is pouring out of my abdomen at an alarming rate.

I can barely think over the pain in my gut, yet I have rage to spare. My body shakes with it. I gather my magic, preparing to strike.

“Ah, ah,” Eislyn says, using the bloody sword tip to tilt my chin up. “Think about harming me, and I’ll drive this sword through your throat, then that of your panther’s, and you will die never knowing what became of Memnon.”

I go still, terror replacing anger. “Where is he?”

Her eyes flick in the direction of the palace for the merest of instants before she casually says, “I thought you were his soul mate, that you could find him through your bond alone.” She frowns. “Apparently not.”

As she speaks, I focus my magic on my gut wound. It’s a lethal injury, but only if it cannot be repaired. Icanrepair it. I’m already clutching it, and now I slowly trickle my power into it. All I have to do is live, then I can save both Memnon and Ferox.

“What did you do to my mate?” I ask.

Eislyn stares down at me stoically. “He will sleep for a hundred years, until all he knows and loves has passed on. When he wakes, all that will be left is me.”

My brows come together, even as I feel the nauseating tug of internal injuries sealing themselves up.

She continues. “I already warned Memnon several times that you would prove treacherous. I told him that a civilized Roman girl like you would never fully accept the warring ways of Sarmatians. That his bloodthirstiness would eventually drive you to do something desperate to stop him from all the killing and conquering. He didn’t believe me then, but I’m sure when he wakes and finds you long gone, he will remember my warnings.”

Eislyn’s words would hold weight with Memnon, who has always believed that she acts with reason and great wisdom.

“And,” she says, “I will make sure to tell him how you, his dear mate, made a deal with the Romans for peace and how you couldn’t bear to kill him, so you left him to sleep. I’ll make sure he knows that you lived a long life—that you remarried, had children, and you didn’t once try to wake him.”

I can barely breathe over my disbelief. Whoisthis woman?

“He’ll be heartbroken,” she continues, “but in time, he will recover.”

I search her features. “Why are you doing this?”

Her eyes glitter, and the corners of her mouth curve into a sly smile. “That’s a secret you’ll have to die without knowing.”

Instinct rather than eyesight has me noticing the infinitesimal shift of Eislyn’s weight and the adjustment of her grip on the sword.

I call on my anger and my power. “Annihilate,” I breathe.

The spell explodes out of me, the power blowing off her sword arm.

Eislyn screams, reaching for the gaping wound at her shoulder. Her wings unfurl, thinner than linen and far more delicate. She uses them to rush herself to the ley line portal.